


On the Nature of Dwarven Crafts

by Avelera



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is unlikely to marry a dwarven princess now that Erebor is reclaimed, but that's because it's very unusual for a Crafter such as him to marry anyone at all. This causes Bilbo considerable consternation, for reasons he would rather not name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Nature of Dwarven Crafts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irrealia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrealia/gifts).



> Based on a Tumblr prompt by aka-irrealia: "Because I’m writing something similar right now: Bilbo thinks Thorin is the kind of dwarf who’s devoted to his craft and he just doesn’t DO romantic/sexy things." 
> 
> Just a fluffy little fill, I hope you enjoy!

_"The number of dwarf-men that marry is actually less than one-third... As for the men, very many also do not desire marriage, being engrossed in their crafts.”_

_\- J.R.R. Tolkien_  

* * *

Bilbo’s feet swung back and forth as he sat in a chair that was much too large for him at the corner of Dwalin’s smithy. The dwarf was working, as most of them tended to be, day and night as they rebuilt their city. As such, the only way to have a chat with any of his former companions was to visit them in their workshops and wait for the banging to die down.

“So... what comes next?” Bilbo said conversationally as Dwalin set aside the hammer (the hobbit’s ears were still ringing from the clamor) and doused… whatever he was working on, in a vat of water.

“We rebuild the city,” Dwalin grunted. The water hissed and sent up a plume of smoke as the cherry red… something, began to darken as it cooled.

“Of course, but what about after _that_?” Bilbo said. He had to wait several minutes for his answer as the banging resumed, and after some indefinable period Dwalin decided that whatever new shape he had beaten the hapless hunk of metal into was now correct. He set it aside to cool and wiped his brow.

“We'll rebuild Dale,” Dwalin said. Bilbo resisted the urge to sigh.

“I meant… politics, trade, council meetings… I don’t know, what does a normal day in a functioning dwarven city look like?” Bilbo said.

“You’re looking at it,” Dwalin said, and picked up another shapeless lump of metal. “We fix things. Make new things to sell or trade, and fight off goblins when they come sniffing down from the North. A good life if you can get it. Why go mucking it up with politics? Best leave that to the Elves and Men, they’ve got nothing better to do. Can’t craft worth shit. Well, ‘cept for the Noldor, but you don’t see as many of them nowadays.”

 _That’s new_ , Bilbo blinked. He hadn’t imagined dwarves cared enough to know there were different Elvish clans, much less know the names of them. “Yes, yes, exactly, Men and Elves. Won’t Thorin have to deal with them? Seal some sort of political alliance, ally with another Dwarven clan to keep Erebor’s strength up? Maybe get… married?"

Bilbo winced as Dwalin paused from where he had been in the process of selecting the next hunk of metal to beat into … whatever. The dwarf turned, eying Bilbo.

Then Dwalin shrugged and shoved the lump into the heart of the forge. “Marry for Erebor? Sometimes I forget you hobbits are more like Men, then you say shite like that. Thorin’s not like that.”

Bilbo hoped it wasn’t too obvious how much his heart leapt. “Oh?” he said very casually. He was quite proud of that. “Too honorable?”

“That of course, don’t be stupid, but he’s a Crafter if there ever was one. Been focused on reclaiming Erebor since it fell, the same way some folks become great gem cutters, or soldiers. Kinds like that don’t usually look around, seeing as they’re too focused on what’s in front of them,” Dwalin said.

Whatever heights Bilbo’s heart had reached it then fell suddenly, and dismally, back to earth. “And now that Erebor’s reclaimed?” he said.

Dwalin gave him an incredulous look. “How should I know, burglar? Go ask him yourself!”

* * *

Which of course Bilbo would never do, because if there was one thing hobbit society was very good at, it was not being rude. At least not directly. And he was fairly sure that marching up to Thorin and demanding to know what his new life purpose was now that Erebor was reclaimed fell under the category of rudeness.

It wasn’t an easy job, being king, but rather selfishly for Bilbo it did afford him the chance to avoid Thorin and the accompanying flushed cheeks and pounding heart that came at the sight of the dwarf. If Thorin noticed Bilbo’s absence, he said nothing of it, which did nothing to encourage Bilbo’s at-this-point nebulous hopes.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted of Thorin, to ask anything at all seemed a gross imposition. But the thought of Thorin marrying some dwarven princess now that his throne was secured put a lump into Bilbo’s throat so big he thought he would choke on it. The thought of going back to Bag End was just as bad, for all that Bilbo had dreamt of the return journey on every rainy, miserable day since he ran out his door.

However, the reality of his freedom to do so when surrounded by the splendor of Erebor and the health and happiness of all the dwarves was more painful than he ever thought to bear. It was long past waiting games, Bilbo knew it was only a matter of time before he admitted to himself even in his conscious mind that he had no intentions of returning, and exactly why that was currently vexing the living daylights out of him.

There was only one thing for it, something at which all hobbits thrived when it came to avoiding an unpleasant task: Bilbo was going to dally like his life depended on it.

* * *

And the best way to dally was over a long chat with friends.

At which Bilbo would most certainly not pry into Thorin’s personal life behind his back.

“So I hear Thorin is a Crafter?” Bilbo said as he took a sip of his tea.

Well, maybe a little.

“Oh, to be sure, if there ever was one,” Balin replied before pouring his own cup. Trust Balin to have the best conversation, the best table, and as all such things unsurprisingly went together, the best tea. He also had the most experience as the Official Thorin Translator as Bilbo had seen many times on the quest, and so was a natural source for a snooping burglar.

“Seems like a lonely task, is it required that they never take a partner?” Bilbo said innocently, glancing wide-eyed up at Balin in inquiry.

“Required?” Balin hooted a laugh. “Heavens no, lad. Why, I consider myself a Crafter _and_ happily married!”

“Married?” Bilbo exclaimed, and glanced around the room in search of heretofore unnoticed signs of a second occupant. How on earth had he missed it?

“Of course! Being a Crafter is hardly a death sentence.” Balin suddenly looked thoughtful. “Then again, I only considered myself one later in life, after I lost my Hannar when the dragon came.”

“Oh.” Bilbo set down his cup in his saucer and stared at it for a moment. He wondered if there was enough water left in the kettle to drown himself. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Balin waved him away. “A long time ago, lad, and you could not have known when asking. It's true, now that you mention it, most Crafters do live alone, but that’s not exclusively the case. If they find one who shares their passion, they have been known to fall in love, to court, even to marry as scandalous as I’m sure that sounds to you.”

“What? To _me_?” Bilbo started, looking up from his cup.

“It’s no secret why you’re asking these questions, Master Baggins. I do talk to my brother on occasion, after all,” Balin said, though Bilbo very nearly did not hear the last bit because at the thought of being so transparent, all the blood had rushed to his head in a blush so fierce it made him dizzy.

“Oh?” Bilbo said, far more strangled than the last. Balin nodded sagely.

“Living alone, dedicated to your books and maps, as Gandalf said, as if you were just waiting for a great adventure to sweep you up?” Bilbo wasn’t quite sure about _that_ , but Balin’s eyes twinkled as he spoke as if he knew something the hobbit didn’t. “It’s very obvious you’re a Crafter yourself, though you may not have had the word for it until you met us, living with such backward folks as you did. It’s only natural that you’d want to learn more. Have you considered talking to Thorin about this?”

Bilbo blinked. “Why would I talk to _him_?”

* * *

“Balin said you wished to speak with me?” Thorin said, at which Bilbo shrieked and very nearly inhaled his pipe.

The battlements were just about the only place in the city that was both repaired  _and_ largely free of dwarves milling about. The posted guards tended to ignore Bilbo when he went out to have a smoke and a few moments to think without the pounding of dwarven feet and the clanging of hammers ringing in his ears. How he had missed the sound of Thorin’s footsteps he did not know, but he could possibly blame it on the howl of the wind and his own thoughts as he frantically dusted burning coals off his coat.

“What? No, I mean yes, that is… Wait, Balin said that? Why would I want to speak to _you_?” Bilbo said blankly.

Thorin looked as if he had just come from the court, still wearing his finery but the thin mithril circlet that had replaced the more grandiose crown of Thrór was absent. The scar across his forehead was only a thin silver line these days, invisible at dusk except where it interrupted his right eyebrow. He looked ridiculously handsome and it was altogether unfair for him to do so, given what Bilbo knew now about Crafters, and the unlikelihood that he would ever match what one such as Thorin could want. 

This put Bilbo into something of a temper which was thoroughly childish and irrational, he knew. However, as someone who had spent his entire life alone devoted to, well, a craft of reading and maps and dreaming of adventures that never came, it was thoroughly and unfairly _fitting_ that the one person he had ever thought of outside of all that was about as unattainable as a star, and he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable about the fact right now.

What was worse, Thorin’s expression was entirely blank at Bilbo's admittedly rude words, but Bilbo had the sense that he could see _beneath_ that mask, as if the two of them spoke without words as they had so many times on the quest. It was one thing that made Bilbo feel so bloody _at home_ in Thorin’s company. And now he felt that his words had surprised Thorin, perhaps hurt him with their flippancy. Yet there wasn’t a trace of it on Thorin’s face just this blasted _feeling_ that wasn’t useful for _anything_.

Thorin didn’t say anything at first, just took a step forward to stand beside Bilbo, crossing his arms and leaning against the parapet as he looked out to the twinkling lights of Dale in the distance. “He was under the impression that you wished to learn more of Dwarven lore as our guest here, and that I could be of service in this matter.”

“Thorin, you hardly have the time these days to give a history lesson to your former burglar,” Bilbo scoffed. “Isn’t there some important council meeting or… enormous stone statue that needs seeing to?”

“The masonry can keep for a few hours without my direct supervision,” Thorin said wryly. “And I never released you from the contract, so you are technically still in my employ.”

Bilbo’s mouth dropped open. “Why of all the cheeky…!” he smacked a hand against Thorin’s shoulder, very fortunate that on this day at least Thorin was not wearing armor (even if Bilbo still had to shake out his hand from the sting, dwarven muscle was not much softer).

And wonder of wonders, barely a twitch on Thorin’s face but Bilbo _felt_ on that unspoken undercurrent, the faintest of smiles.

Much better.

“What do you need a burglar for anyway?” Bilbo said. “You have all the dwarves in the world to help you fix… whatever it is you’re fixing in there these days, I don’t know, it all seems done to my eyes. But I suppose as a Crafter, your work will never be truly done, will it?”

“Is that what this is about?” Thorin said, looking askance at Bilbo. “I thought as one yourself you would understand.”

Bilbo threw up his hands, well, one hand, the other just made a small frustrated gesture while clutching his pipe. “There you all go again with the ‘Crafter’ nonsense! Well, as I am not currently, or at least last I checked, a _dwarf_ I don’t know where you all got this notion that I could be a Crafter as well. Or even if I am, it has hardly done _me_ any good.”

“To any dwarf's eyes it would be obvious. I know little of your life, Bilbo, but I saw a glimpse when I was in your home. It was a large one, for your kind, and yet you lived alone,” Thorin said gently.

And it was far too _damned_ gently because it made something hitch in Bilbo’s throat to hear it put in such blunt terms. “And?”

“There is no magic in being a Crafter. It simply means one who is dedicated to a task beyond all else. It bears special importance to my people, but we do not believe ourselves the only race to feel that calling. And so I say again: you lived alone, by Gandalf’s words you studied, you kept yourself free and separate while you waited. You simply did not know what you waited for, not until it arrived.”

“And what was that?” Bilbo said, harsher and more sarcastically than he meant, but that mention of his solitary life had been a pinprick that each word dug deeper. It was true he had lived alone, more true that it was unusual for a hobbit to do so. Had he wanted a family, he could have had one just by snapping his fingers. Had he wanted to follow his uncles to the sea he might have traveled there too. But he had waited, for what he had not known, still did not, except that when he had seen that contract waiting on the table something inside him had _snapped_.

“The chance to take back Erebor,” Thorin said, so seriously that Bilbo could only stare for a moment before barking a laugh.

“ _Erebor_?” Bilbo guffawed. “Thorin, I didn’t know what Erebor _was_ until you showed up at my doorstep! And probably for a good while after that, the details were rather fuzzy…”

“I was a Crafter before the city fell,” Thorin said, ignoring Bilbo’s laughter. He really was very good at being solemn in the face of the ridiculous. “I did not know what I waited for. I thought it was the kingship, but when the dragon came, I knew my purpose from that day forward, as if I had always known.”

Bilbo’s laughter cut short, gone sour at the reminder. “Yes, yes. To this day I’d imagine, with no room for anything else.” He did not mean to sound as bitter as he did.

“In all likelihood,” Thorin agreed. Then Bilbo started at a pat on his shoulder and turned to see the full force of Thorin’s damnably gentle smile turned on him. “But a Crafter need not work alone.”

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo said.

“I believe what Balin wished for me to explain to you, is that a Crafter does not mean one who works alone towards a goal. They are less likely to find a partner, but only because that person must share their Craft, and that is at times a narrow path to follow. You shamed me after the Goblin Tunnels.”

Bilbo blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. “Shamed _you_?”

“I had thought you one who was only dedicated to his own pleasures, your complaining along the quest did little to dissuade me of this,” Thorin said.

“Oh, well, thank you very much, I suppose this isn’t headed towards an apology…”

“Hush, I have already done so once, and I too have my pride,” Thorin admonished. “Bilbo, you wished to help us. Not for treasure, or fame, certainly not for comfort, for we gave you none. You stayed by our side because you knew what it was to have a home, and wished to help those who had lost one. Do you have any idea how rare that was, or how precious? You were the first Crafter I ever met who shared my reasons for reclaiming Erebor, the only one outside my family, and I nearly drove you away.”

“There you go with this ‘Crafter’ nonsense again!” Bilbo exclaimed. “Even if that was my purpose, and the reason I remained… alone, forso long, it hardly does me any good, does it? It’s all finished now, you’re home, I should probably return to mine, only…”

“Only you do not wish to,” Thorin finished, and only the arm around Bilbo’s shoulder kept him from throwing up his hands again.

“Yes, yes! Since when did you dwarves all become such experts on the subject of Bilbo Baggins?” Bilbo exclaimed.

By way of answer, Thorin leaned in and there was a flash of heat against Bilbo’s forehead as warm lips and the scratch of beard pressed against his face for a brief instant.

Bilbo gaped.

Thorin drew away. 

Which was entirely unacceptable.

“Oh no you _don’t_ ,” Bilbo said, and slammed his pipe down on the parapet. Those braids were extremely useful or perhaps it was just that Thorin gave no resistance at all as Bilbo tugged him in for a kiss that was far more sound and certain, because hang it all he had had it up to _here_ with these sorts of misunderstandings!

“As I was saying,” Thorin said after they had caught their breath. “A Crafter need not work alone.”

“Oh fine,” Bilbo huffed. “That still doesn’t mean I’m doing this for Erebor.” To which the only way to stop Thorin’s laughter was to kiss him again.  

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the original link to this ficlet and my blog [here](http://avelera.tumblr.com/post/141859991760/on-the-nature-of-dwarven-crafts-avelera-the).  
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. If you have a moment, I'd love to hear your thoughts in a comment!


End file.
